


An Afternoon's Entertainment

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic)
Genre: Hacking, Lazy Days, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a hot, slow summer afternoon, and Brian is <em>bored</em>. Includes people sassing Oliver Queen and Creote being <em>extremely</em> distracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon's Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



> A while ago [Nelja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja) left a comment on [Points of Contact](http://archiveofourown.org/works/617590/chapters/1114155) saying that all they might have liked to see more of was "more hacking, and maybe a little porn." And I thought that was pretty great, so i wrote more hacking. And...there isn't any porn yet, but there's definitely some lead-up here.

“Oh. Oh, that is just _offensive._ ”

It's a warm, lazy day in August, and Sasha is sprawled over the entirety of the couch, feeling as if he could melt. He's got a volume of _Dylan Dog_ balanced on his stomach, but he's only half-reading it. Mostly he's trying to enjoy what little breeze comes in through the open window. His hair's finally growing back after the fire and it itches, and he's overheated and feeling dreamy. “I am from a cold country,” he mutters to himself. “This Gotham heat will melt me.”

When he realizes that Brian is talking, though, he lifts his head and says, “Hm?”

“This firewall.” Brian's sitting at the computer, typing away. He looks annoyed. “What, did Queen Industries get lazy and just go to _Best Buy?_ It's _egregious._ I could get through it in my sleep.”

Sasha blinks and says, amiably, “Would you want to?”

“At this point, _yes,_ if only to teach them a lesson. Oliver Queen's a Forbes billionaire, you'd think he'd take systems security a little more seriously. This is supposed to be a _challenge._ ”

“Nothing is really a challenge for you. You're brilliant.” The heat is making him silly and sentimental.

“Well... _yes,_ thank you, Sasha, but...it should at least be _interesting._ ”

Sasha chuckles, nearly dislodging his book. “What are you going to do, then?”

“I'm going to leave Queen a note.”

\--

In his office at Queen Industries, Oliver Queen scowls at the calendar on his phone and curses the day they invented boards of directors. There are _really_ more important things he could be doing. He huffs and turns to his computer, planning to write them an email excusing himself—

—and just as he's about to open up his email client, the mouse cursor is somehow wrested from his control. He swears, startled. Picks up the mouse and shakes it. Hits the spacebar. No effect.

Instead of doing what he _wants_ it to do, it slides across the screen and opens _Notepad,_ of all things. As he stares, his computer, apparently apropos of nothing, begins to type up a message.

> _My dear Mr. Queen,_
> 
> _What was intended as simply a slow afternoon's entertainment has swiftly become a job interview. I don't want to beat around the bush, so I'll be frank: your security system is *appalling*. It would be an embarassment to a pocket calculator, let alone a Fortune 100 company. You should fire your head of security at once._
> 
> _Once you've fired him—Robert John Beales, 35, divorced, with two children (without custody, visiting rights one weekend a month), a bad ulcer, and several unpaid speeding tickets—I can be contacted at (667) 555-4273. My services come at a steep price, but it is well worth paying._
> 
> _All the best._
> 
> _-S_
> 
> _P.S. You have a Robin Hood desktop background? Really? Very subtle. I'm surprised you went with the Disney version though._

Oliver stares at the message for a moment, mouth working silently as his face turns red, and then reaches for his phone.

\--

Brian finishes typing with a flourish and shuts down the computer. “All done. That was enjoyable. We should have some lucrative work as soon as he's calmed down.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him to fire his head of security and hire me instead.” Brian stands up from the desk, stretches luxuriously, and then leans forward and pulls the blinds shut. “I think we should anticipate a call from him in an hour or two, once he's had time to talk to Beales.”

“Beales?” Sasha _doesn't_ ask about the closed blinds, since any questions he _would_ have had are promptly answered when Brian comes over, plucks his mostly-unread book from his hands, and climbs on top of him.

“His current head of security. An incompetent ass.” Brian kisses Sasha thoroughly, and then sits up and pulls his shirt off over his head. “In the meantime, I've thought of an entertaining way to spend the time waiting for that phone call.”

“Somehow I'd guessed that.”

Sasha moves to take off his own shirt, and Brian tries to help, and it all gets a little more involved than is strictly necessary for the removal of clothing.

When the phone rings Brian is so startled that he almost falls off the couch, and is only saved by the fact that Sasha's gripping his belt fairly firmly. He _was_ in the middle of getting the buckle undone, but he's got fast enough reflexes to switch tactics. Brian winces, swearing at where the tab of _Sasha's_ belt buckle dug into his hand, and snatches his phone from the coffee table. There's more swearing when he looks at the caller ID, and Sasha's eyebrows go up when he thumbs it on and says, “What _is_ it, Miss Lance? I was _doing_ something.”

_“Did you seriously just hack into Oliver Queen's computer to leave him an insulting note?”_

“It wasn't insulting. It was entirely truthful. His security systems are _unmentionably_ bad. Although I suppose I did insult some of his employees. Why?”

Sasha looks Brian over, nods in satisfaction when it's clear that he's firmly situated again, and goes back to undoing his belt.

 _“He is_ livid. _He almost threw his keyboard at the wall. He's on the phone with Oracle now.”_

“Why didn't he just call _me?_ I _gave_ him my—will you _stop_ that, I'm trying to—I _gave_ him my number, my offer was _quite_ clear. For that matter why are _you_ calling me about this?”

_“I was...in the area.”_

A hiss of leather against cloth, and then a faint thump as his belt hits the floor.

_“Did you think he was actually going to call you? He's pretty angry.”_

“It was worth a—a— _I'm going to get you for that later, I promise I'll be off the phone in a minute—_ it was worth a try. Ask Oracle to look over his security system, she'll agree with me.”

Sasha gestures innocently— _why, what could_ I _have done to distract you?_ —and doesn't stop what he's doing.

 _“Like I said, he's talking to her right—”_ Dinah pauses, and then says, sounding faintly embarassed, _“Did I interrupt something?”_

Brian huffs irritably. “Well, I have this large Russian man here, and if I don't help him out then I'm not sure we'll _ever_ manage to get his trousers off.”

_“I—oh my god were you actually—”_

“And will continue to do so _just_ as soon as we're off the phone. Have Queen call me when he's lucid again and I'll give him my schedule of consulting fees.”

He hears Dinah cough, and winks at Sasha, who shrugs and does something _very distracting_ with one of his hands. A slight shift, and then his other hand, the free one, creeps around to the small of Brian's back and _pushes,_ and Brian falls forward, managing to catch himself with his free arm barely an inch away from a collision with Sasha's face.

Dinah can apparently hear the rustling, and she coughs again and says, _“I'll. I'll call you back later. Or Oracle will. Probably Oracle. Don't...don't do it again.”_

The phone clicks off.

Brian lifts his head, judges his aim carefully, and hurls his phone across the room with a beautiful overhand toss. It sails over the coffee table, through the open doorway, and into the hamper of laundry in the hallway.

“You. Are _terrible_ company when I'm trying to make business calls.”

The corner of Sasha's mouth twitches, and he says, “If you'd wanted it to be an actual business call then you would have gotten off me before answering the phone.”

“I think you could drop the 'me' from that sentence and it'd be a bit more accurate to my actual plans for the afternoon.” Brian grins and then kisses that smirking corner of Sasha's mouth, running his tongue along the other man's lower lip. His hands run down Sasha's sides and return to his half-opened belt. “Now where were we?”

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'll write the actual porn eventually. ^_^


End file.
